A Twisted Fabrication
by SeleneIlene
Summary: AU: In which Garry's a painting from the start, Mary is just a little bit crazy, and Ib discovers that lies come wrapped in the prettiest paper. 'She looked into the man's eyes, and realized with horror there was nothing reflected back. He, in a sense, wasn't alive.' Eventual GarryxIb.
1. Chapter 1

******Disclaimer: I don't own Ib. Simple as that.**

**A Twisted Fabrication**

_Chapter One_

* * *

Mary wouldn't let go of her hand. Ever since Ib had found the wounded girl on the floor and retrieved her yellow rose, Mary stuck to her side like glue. Ib didn't really mind the company, preferring to have someone else who could make the whole event less scary than it was. And Mary did just that, rambling on about her father and fascination with art.

"He sometimes paints, you know," the blonde chatted happily, beaming at Ib with a spark in her eyes. "Of course, his works don't sell as well as Guertena's, but I think they're beautiful. When we make it out of here, I'll have to show them to you!"

Ib flinched, frowning. Mary noticed her discomfort and instantly deflated, the spark leaving her. The phrase remained unsaid: If we make it out of here.

Both of the girls had found themselves in a rather distorted version of the art gallery they had previously been at. Paintings and sculptures of all kinds by the famous Guertena were alive here, and seemed to do nothing but chase the two of them, harassing them and setting up challenging puzzles. So far, Ib and Mary had been able to solve them, and they weren't exactly excited on finding out what would happen if they failed one of the puzzles.

Ib was glad Mary was with her. It made things a lot easier. Ib felt like she had a real friend.

The brunette did not have many friends at school, but it was not for lack of trying. Ib tried very hard in fact. The other kids just didn't get her, and she didn't get the other kids. They thought she was weird because she didn't say much. Ib thought they were stupid and flat. She had nothing to say to them. Her classmates never stood out; they never gave off that air of mystery.

Mary was different. She seemed like a very happy girl, but there was one little detail that Ib didn't understand. Something twisted and dark raged under Mary's surface. It hissed and spit, showing itself only when the blonde became enraged, a spectacle that had only occurred twice upon entering the 'Fabricated World'. Ib didn't know why a thing as ugly as that lived in Mary. Maybe it was the lack of a mother in Mary's ramblings, or perhaps a result of an event far worse. What Ib did know was that Mary wasn't aware of the nasty shadow inside of her.

After the Juggler had stolen her rose, the blonde flew into a rage, chasing the thin paper man all the way to his portrait, and proceeded to tear him apart with her bare hands. She made sure not to harm the wilting yellow flower, her life source, in the process. When Mary was done with what remained of the painting, her storming blue eyes cleared, and she was rather confused as to why there was so much paint everywhere.

It frightened Ib, that she was in the company of someone so unpredictable. On the other hand, a part of her was pleased.

Finally. Someone...different. Someplace...different.

"Hey, Ib?" Mary began to speak again, and Ib's train of thought wavered. "How old did you say you were again?"

Her bubbly tone had returned, followed by a tightening grip on Ib. "Hmm? Ah, yes. My age," Ib said quietly. She gave Mary a soft smile. "Fifteen. I'm fifteen years old."

Mary shrieked, throwing her arms around Ib to give the girl a hug. "That's just one year younger than me! We're so close we could be sisters!"

For some reason the word 'sister' filled Ib with a strange feeling; one which consisted of warmth, yet anger.

She shook away her doubt, though, and returned the hug, closing her eyes and enjoying the moment.

It didn't last long, unfortunately. The reason behind going up all those stairs entered Ib's mind and she gasped. "Mary," she jumped back and looked at the blonde with wide eyes. "The key! Please tell me you grabbed the key back there!"

Mary's eyebrows furrowed, and she shot Ib a look of confusion.

"The one in the room with the Fisherman, or the one with all of the books?" she asked.

"There were two keys?" Ib's stomach dropped.

"Yep," Mary smiled. She winked at her friend. "I got them both."

Reaching into her green dress's pocket, she pulled out the keys. One blue, one purple. Ib let out a sigh of relief at the sight of them. She lowered her hand from its position on her chest, and flashed Mary a grin.

"I don't know what I'd do without you, Mary," Ib told her, and the other girl's eyes watered slightly at her words.

"Thanks, Ib," Mary wiped her eyes furiously, and laughed. "Come on, then! I have to show you my dad's paintings, right? We're getting nowhere standing around."

Mary took her hand again, and the two leisurely walked down the deserted hallway, hoping that the peace would last just a while longer.

Ha. It would end soon. Because behind the blue door down the way, everything was going to come apart, ripped from its seams. Those two little girls didn't know what real Hell was like yet. They'd find out soon enough, though, because soon the both of them would live it.

* * *

**A/N:** A lot of things are going to be different, especially considering that the 'Fabricated World' in this case is much more gory than the canon one, since Garry is the 'painting' here. I have no idea when I'll update the next chapter. :( On the bright side, I'm sure I'll have a lot of fun with this story, since I haven't written fanfiction in forever and am currently obsessed with Ib and The Witch's House.

Go easy on the critique, please. This has been sitting on my computer for a while, and I doubted whether I should even upload it or not. I have a bunch of other stories, too, from different fandoms, and might eventually upload them as well. For now, though, I'm going to test the waters.


	2. Chapter 2

The door looked like almost every other one the girls had encountered, but Ib felt a sense of foreboding, a tight clench in her gut. It was much like the one she got when she looked at Mary for too long. Ib gulped.

"Which key is it?" she asked.

Mary shrugged her shoulders. "Not sure, but it's probably the blue one. The door's that color."

The blonde twisted a string of hair around her finger, humming a song to herself. "Thanks," Ib muttered, and she moved to insert said key. Something held her back.

Her hand shook slightly, and the girl breathed deeply. Maybe it was the purple one. What if it was the purple one?! She glanced at the other key. Purple, blue. Purple, blue. If she stuck the wrong one in, were bad things going to start happening again?

No. Now was not the time to start doubting herself. Ib stuck the blue key in the door, and heard a click. She waited for something else, maybe a shriek or thud, but there was nothing.

How stupid. How paranoid. Ib opened the door, dragging behind her a rather dazed Mary.

* * *

The man was crouched on the floor, shoulders hunched as he huddled for warmth. Ha. Warmth. What was it really? He had never felt warmth before. How could he? Warmth did not exist to him, and neither did cold. That was what he wanted so much, though.

He wanted to feel the scorching wave of heat touch is skin, even if it destroyed his very being. He wanted to feel the chilling, bitter wind, even if it surrounded and suffocated him. Oh, to be alive. It seemed like a pleasant thing.

He knew it had to be better than this…world. Anything would indeed be better.

The man may be a king, but he was a king of the Chained. There were invisible shackles around his wrists and ankles, preventing him from ever leaving. And yet, one shackle had a broken chain, which symbolized his hope. Maybe one day he would make it out. To feel the sun and wind...He could hardly wait.

He wet his dry, cracked lips, and ran a hand through his bloodied hair. Slowly, he rose, straightening his posture and glancing around him.

"Huh?" he began in a hoarse voice. The man thought they had left him a long time ago, but perhaps not. The faint lighting dimmed even more, until there was nothing but black. Black like their eyes. Black like his heart.

And it began again. That feeling of hate and angst consumed him. It ate away at his mind, weaving in and out until sanity was nothing but a memory.

He was going to die. The darkness plunged around him, and the dolls danced, their button eyes and ragged trousers swaying. He hated them, hated them, hated them. But he had created them, right? So why did he hate them? It didn't make any sense.

In the beginning, he made the dolls so he wouldn't have to face the loneliness, which plagued him constantly. They adored him, and the feeling was very much mutual. But all of the dolls had a thing for others' misery, and soon began to control parts of his world. He shouldn't have been surprised, really. They were his own extensions, after all.

One of them ran at him, holding a small palette knife in its hands, laughing. Ha. It was going to kill him. His friend was prepared to murder him without a second thought. Maybe it was the madness, but the man began to laugh, too, and soon the dark room was filled with nothing but the chorus of menacing giggles. As quickly as it started, though, it stopped.

The man had held out his hand, and clenched it into a fist, all the while imagining it pulverizing them. And as he willed it, it happened.

He stood in the middle, the carnage forming a sort of circle around him. The dolls were dead. For now. Their playful, yet twisted expressions were unrecognizable, and their bodies dismembered.

How stupid. How pitiful. For a moment, just a moment, he had been afraid of death. But how could he feel death, when he wasn't alive in the first place?

**"It's time! It's time! Won't you come greet your guests, Foooorgooootten Pooootraaait? Be a hospitable host, yes?** **KIHIHI!"**

"Ah, yes," the Forgotten Portrait murmured. An eerie grin split across his face. "That is important, isn't it? I wouldn't want her not to like me."

**"Have you chosen one, then?" **

The portrait blinked, the grin slowly fading away. "The golden one is like a reflection of who I am now, but the red one is a reflection of who I used to be. I, in truth, have not decided."

**"OH, PITY! WHAT A PITY FOR THE PITIFUL PORTRAIT!"**

The voice began to grate on his nerves, and he clenched his bloody hands, creating a squelching sound. "Begone," he hissed. "I have no need for your council any longer."

**"Kihihihihi! Of course, sire. I hope you realize, though, I'll be watching, waiting to see how this all turns out! Don't disappoint us!"  
**

The voice's presence melts away, and the atmosphere in the room oozes with just a little less darkness than before. The man huffed, and made to exit the room..._Squish._ He shivered in disgust. Why had he ever made a creature as disgusting as one of those dolls? He bent his leg to look at the bottom of his shoes. He reached his hand down to wipe it off, but quickly retracted the limb.

He'd take care of his appearance before he left. He wouldn't want to disappoint such lovely ladies, would he?

* * *

A/N: Yeah, I actually updated. I'm surprised myself. It's mostly due to an Ib video on Youtube I watched. It had the song Blinding by Florence + the Machine, and just-the feels. The feels. T_T

Nothing much has happened so far. The first two chapters were sort of an introduction, I guess! :D


	3. Chapter 3

"This place," Ib murmured, "just gets stranger and stranger."

Mary giggled. "I guess it does, doesn't it?"

The blonde lifted her hand to touch the wall to her right. There was a translucent slime covering it, and a squelch sounded when her fingers came in contact. She wrinkled her nose, grimacing as she wiped the substance off on her green dress. Mary didn't care if she got her dress dirty, because soon she'd be able to wash it. Soon she'd be home, sitting in the kitchen with her father and Ib. Mary couldn't wait. Her father would be so proud of her for finally making a friend.

"It's like the walls are crying," she remarked, glancing around her.

She twirled in a circle to get a better look. The lighting wasn't all that pleasant, so the room was comprised of more shadows than anything. Mary just barely made out a shady form located at the back of the room. It was sort of squarish, and the girl could have sworn she saw it move. That wouldn't be too surprising. So many things moved in this place that weren't supposed. The paintings and the mannequins for example. Mary frowned as she squinted her eyes. The figure didn't seem to be either of those. It was something else entirely, but the blonde couldn't figure out just what it really was.

She hesitantly stepped forward, though quickly retracted her foot. "Hey, Ib?" Mary asked the brunette quietly. "Do you know what that thing is?"

Ib turned to her, and the girl's eyes instantly zeroed in on the dark figure. She cocked her head to the side. "If I didn't know any better," she began, "I'd say it was a bunny."

Mary could feel an eyebrow raising as she gazed at Ib skeptically. "Oh?" she asked, slowly moving her head to glance at the 'bunny'. The blonde walked towards it. "Because I see a doll...a cute, adorable doll."

She crouched down so that she was eye level with the figure. It was obviously a doll. How could Ib mistake something as beautiful as it with a _bunny_? It had the most adorable button eyes, ones that made Mary just want to give it a great big hug. She cooed at the creature, and did just that. "Do you think I can take it with me, Ib? Do you? Surely the room won't mind if I steal away its friend."

"Erm," Ib was looking at her strangely now, "I...don't think it would."

"Yay!" Mary shouted, smiling. She jumped up and down, squeezing her arms around the doll even tighter than before.

"What do you think we should name you, hmmm?" There was still a bounce to her step as she walked around the room, gazing at a bookshelf that hadn't been there before. Mary held the doll's mouth to her ear so she could catch its answer.

"Oh?" she asked the doll, sapphire eyes lighting up at the prospect.

"So if I pull this one...," her fingers gently grasped the same book the doll spoke of. The doll did a sort of victory dance, jumping out of her arms. As soon as she took the book off the shelf, the ground fell from under her feet, and all she heard was Ib's screams.

* * *

When Mary came to, she felt a blinding pain spark up her back. She arched uncomfortably, rolling to her side to try and avert the ache.

Her little doll was awfully cruel! Tricking her like that! Well, to be fair, the doll had only said that _something_ would happen. It hadn't specified what exactly would transpire. If Ib had gotten hurt, Mary would have to have a small 'talk' with it. That thought brought Mary's attention to her surroundings, though, and she glanced around hungrily for the sight of her friend. Except Ib wasn't there.

She blinked. There were...thousands of those little dolls. They surrounded her in a circle, and laughed behind plush hands. "Would you happen to know where my friend is?" Mary asked the doll who had tricked her.

She could tell it apart from the others, because there was a small, golden ribbon wrapped around its neck. The doll crawled up her dress, and giggled. It only stopped once it had pulled itself on top her shoulder. "Don't worry, Little Mistress~! Your human friend is safe and sound. She's probably having lots and lots of fun right now. We can have fun, too. Can't we, Little Mistress~!? We'll have tea parties, and sleepovers, and color, and make up all sorts of adventures! Right, Little Mistress~?"

Thoughts and worries concerning Ib faded to the back of her mind as the soothing voice of the doll comforted her. Her and these dolls would have so much fun together, would they not?

Because they were her dolls now. Her friends. Mary wasn't going to let them go.

"Yes!" she cheered. "We'll have so much fun together."

* * *

Ib could faintly hear the voice as it murmured words of comfort to her. A warm hand brushed away the hair covering her closed eyes.

_"Don't worry. You're safe. You'll always be safe with me. I won't let anything hurt you. Ever."_

Had she heard this voice before? It sounded oddly familiar. It was deep, obviously belonging to a male, and mature. Ib struggled with opening her eyes, and was only allowed to catch a glimpse of her savior before her vision faded to black once more.

She had looked into the man's eyes, and realized with horror there was nothing reflected back. He, in a sense, wasn't alive.

* * *

**A/N:** Oh, Mary. You so crazy. But that's why I gotta love ya~!

Why do I always write chapters just barely more than 1,000 words? Grrr. I'm so frustrated. I'm horrible at writing multi-chapter fics. I never get around to finishing them, but I'm going to try my hardest on this one. Sorry for the long wait. I go back to school this Thursday, and am pretty sad about it. The next update may come at the end of January, just because I'm going to have a lot of stuff going on now.


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